Choices
by Keesha
Summary: Entry for the December Fete des Mousquetaires - Dark. A man reflects upon his choices in life.


**Choices**

 **He stood there, hands tightly clasped, eyes downcast to the disturbed earth, letting the words of the service wash over him.**

" _Reflect upon your present blessings - of which every man has many - not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some."_

Was that supposed to be comforting? In order to be blessed we must suffer? What kind of inspirational message was that? They both deserved better.

He had suffered, and in the following days, when he was feeling melancholy, he would imagine he had suffered more than most. Though that was probably not true. It was a pity statement, borne of grief. Poor me, see how much I have suffered. See how much I have lost.

Yes, he could provide a list of grievances for himself and it would be long and lengthy. But then again could not everyone do the same, from the beggar on the street to the King himself? And the items, the ones he would list as dark things that had happened to him, could they be considered truly bad? Or was that the perception of the sufferer, not a product of the circumstance?

If he were to say poor me, my father is dead, could not someone else say 'well at least you had a father, I am an orphan'. For everyone who says they are poor, is there not someone in the world even poorer? Was suffering a game of one-upmanship that no one could win?

The man in the dirt hole, was he now not causing suffering for those who still walked above ground? Whose fault was that? Should the man be blamed for dying, for surely it was not his intention when he got out of bed that day. Or at least he hoped not. And yet the man had died and brought an immeasurable darkness to the world. But it wasn't the dead man's fault. It was the fault of the man who killed him.

 **He stood there under the stone archway glaring with hatred at his quarry.**

" _Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord."_

Another thought that was not comforting. Vengeance by any hand other than his own would not banish the darkness, would it? At the moment, he much preferred the thought of an eye for an eye. A hand for a hand. But then, another thought crossed his mind.

The dead will be avenged. Yet, in doing do it will cause another death, which will bring on more suffering, for someone. Maybe those two men standing beside the musketeer he sought. And to what end? When everyone has retaliated, will there be anyone left to mourn the dead?

Faith teaches forgiveness. But how to do you forgive the person who put your father in his grave? Would forgiveness bring light? Or simply a new form of darkness?

In the end, he didn't care and he moved forward. Gun at the ready. Aimed at the perceived bringer of darkness.

 **His back was against the rough wooden pole, the cold touch of steel alongside his throat.**

" _It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God such men lived."_

So, it was he who would be joining the dead today. Would it be in the darkness or the light? Would God forsake him for choosing vengeance? For not giving the Lord his due?

And when he died here today, who would mourn for him? His father had always preached honor. But when your life-sand has run out from between your fingers, what really counts? Vengeance or honor?

His soul screamed honor, but his heart screamed vengeance louder, for as soon as he was set free, his hand threw the knife. Though some part of his soul must have been touched, for his aim, which was very good, put the knife in the pole, not in the back of the musketeer walking away. But still, that was not the end, for darkness does not give up easily.

 **His sword was trapped. Under the three other blades.**

" _Friends, if I advance, follow me! If I retreat, kill me! If I die, avenge me!"_

He could end this here. Right now. The three bore him no malice. He was being offered a chance for light, not darkness. But the pain and grief were too raw for his heart, which ruled his head. Avenge his heart screamed.

But, was this what he truly wanted? To bring darkness to the musketeer who killed his father? To fight and win. To fight and die. To avenge.

The heart shrieked again and won. With a mighty roar, he hefted off the blades. He'd fight them all, for his father. For vengeance.

 **Steel was at his throat once more.**

" _Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves."_

This, his brain shouted, is it! You have learned nothing in your moment of death! Revenge is the darkness. Look. At the three. Can't you see it? Can't you feel it? Their bond. Love. That is the true light. That is what vanquishes the darkness. That is what you should have been seeking. What they have, the three of them. To be one. To be all.

He'd been given a chance to reach for the light, and had chosen the darkness. His father wouldn't be proud of where he stood now. His father. A good man. An honorable man. And he had disgraced him. Where had he gone wrong? When had the path forked and he took the wrong route? I'm sorry father were the unspoken words on his lips as he readied himself to meet his Maker.

Then, he was given another chance. The blades of the three were lifted, with a joke; perhaps. God is gracious! God is good!

But darkness does not give up easily. Through the gate, evil entered. Beneath the same archway under which he had so recently passed in his own suffering. A new man was to be brought to suffer.

 **He watched, alive, as they hauled the swordsman away to jail.**

" _Brotherhood means laying down your life for somebody, really willing to sacrifice yourself for someone else."_

As if to prove a point, he was alive, yet the others around him suffered. Vengeance had been served, in a fashion, though not by his hand. The musketeer who stoically gave up without a fight. Who had shown mercy to him not once, but twice. Who bore him no ill-will even as he, the musketeer, was hauled away. From the light into the darkness.

Whose brothers, for they could be called nothing else by the love in their eyes, were left suffering as the musketeer was taken away. To be told not to avenge what they could only perceive as a gross injustice. To not be allowed to make his mistake in choosing the path of vengeance. But rather, instructed to look for truth and justice. Vengeance was the darkness. Truth the light. Honor above all.

Now, he had a decision to make. Darkness or light. Chose to do nothing. Let the musketeer, innocent or otherwise, die. Vengeance would be his, for his father had named this man his killer, hadn't he?

But perhaps there was another interpretation. Was his father giving him the path to the light in his naming of the musketeer? A mentor to help him find the truth? Not his killer, but his savior?

They marched the musketeer out the gate. He walked with dignity. His brothers followed. And he was left alone. In the courtyard. To decide. What path should he choose? Vengeance or truth? Darkness. . . or light?

 **QUOTE NOTES:**

1\. Charles Dickens – 'A Christmas Carol and other Christmas Writings.'

2\. The Bible. Romans 12:19 (KJV)

3\. General George Smith Patton Jr. best known for his leadership of the U.S. Third Army in France and Germany following the Allied invasion of Normandy in June 1944.

4\. Henri du Vergier, comte de la Rochejaquelein was the youngest general of the Royalist Vendéan insurrection during the French Revolution.

5\. Confucius, attributed, The Power of One.

6\. Timothy Alistair Telemachus "Tim" Hetherington was a British photojournalist.


End file.
